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THE 

UNDERSTANDING 
HILLS 

I VIN  GST  ON  L .  B IDDLE 


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5ty*  Hntenrtanfctttg  Sjtllis 


3ttp>  Itt&mitatt&tttg  ijtlla 

And  Other  Poems 

BY 
LIVINGSTON  LUDLOW  BIDDLE  ■ 


* 


NEW  YORK 

SitMi,  fHeaii  and  ffinmpani} 

1916 


Copyright,  1916 
By  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY,  INC. 


Published  October  28,  1916 
Second  Edition,  November  13,  1916 


Certain  poems  herein  are,  with  the  permis- 
sion of  the  editors,  reprinted  from  Ainslee's, 
Munsey's  Magazine,  The  Bookman,  Scribner's 
Magazine  and  Lippincott' s  Magazine,  to  whom 
the  author  desires  to  express  his  acknowledg- 
ments. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Understanding  Hills i 

A  Spring  Idyll 4 

In  a  Pine  Forest 6 

The  Taj  Mahal 7 

The  Birth  of  Love 14 

To  One  Who  Sailed  Away 16 

The  Witches'  Revenge 18 

To  One  Beloved 19 

Lines  and  What  Lies  Between    ....  20 
To  the  North  Wind  in  Winter    .      .     .      .21 

To  the  South  Wind  as  Winter  Ends  .      .  25 

Because  of  Thee 28 

Memories 30 

To  a  Loved  One 31 

Nature's  Secret 32 

*  Letters  and  Art 33 

The  Difference 41 

Belief 43 

To  a  Wild  Rose 44 

In  a  Mirror 45 

Three    Questions 46 

*  This  poem  was  written  to  be  read  before  the  $>  B  K 
society  at  the  annual  meeting  held  in  Philadelphia,  December, 
I9I5- 

[vii] 


To  Those  Who  Vigil  Keep 48 

In  a  Garden 49 

Sunset  and  Thunder  Clouds 50 

Beneath  a  Window 51 

The  Scent  of  Roses 52 

The  Island  of  Forgetfulness 53 

The  Sea 56 

As  a  Mirror  —  so  My  Heart 61 

To  a  Violet 62 

How  Different 63 

Autumn  (After  the  First  Frost)     .     .  -  .  65 

The  Witching  Hour 69 

The  Sea  Wolves 71 

The  Tennis  Match 74 

At  Parting 76 

Dawn  in  June 78 

When  a  Loved  One  Is  Near 81 

To  a  Star 83 

Youth  and  Old  Age 84 

In  June 86 

To  Mount  Ararat 87 

The  White  Rose's  Mission 89 

To  the  Four  Winds 90 

To  One  Away 93 

To  One  Departed 94 

Comparison 97 

The  Story  of  a  Rose 98 

To  One  Absent 100 

How  Strange  It  Seems 101 

The  Abandoned  Home 102 

Yesterday  and  To-day no 

[  viii  ] 


The  Mysterious  Woman in 

Then  and  Now 113 

Why? 115 

Impossibilities 117 

The  Submarine 118 

Association 120 

The  Wedding  March  from  Lohengrin  .     .122 

The  Greek  Islands 124 

Snow-Flakes 127 

The  River 128 

Do  Dreams  Come  True  ? 132 

At  Sunset 133 

At  Dusk 134 

Always 137 

Early  November 138 

The  Valley  of  Departed  Days    .     .     .     .140 


[ix] 


5%  ltttor*tatt&tttg  SftUa 


THE  UNDERSTANDJN^-HIMlS;  •: 

YOU  who  are  torn  in  spirit  and  in  mind, 
Whose  soul  the  cup  of  grief  has  drained 

To  its  last,  bitter  dregs, 

When  the  first  poignant  shock  has  waned 

Leaving  you  weak  yet  filled  with  strange  de- 
spair, 

Weep  not  since  weeping  must  be  vain 

But  go  you  up  in  the  high  hills 

Just  ere  the  coming  of  the  rain. 

Watch  you  the  gathering  clouds  of  storm 

Brooding  from  crest  to  crest 

And  blotting  out  each  towering  peak's  grim 
form 

Then  suddenly  their  shifting  shapes  unite 

And  with  unbroken  front  advance 

To  pour  their  sodden  might 

Upon  the  face  of  Nature.     All  the  world 

Now  blighted  doth  appear  and  glooms  with 
shades  of  night. 

c  i  ] 


Yet  though  the  world  you  watch  at  darkest 

seems, 
Know  that  those  hills  which  in  the  distance  lie 
Already  may  from  tempest's  wrath  be  freed, 
Already  may  be  basking  'neath  a  friendly  sky. 
Wait  but  a  little  while 
And   where   you   watch   will    from   its   gloom 

emerge  — 
As  swiftly  widening  rifts  in  western  heavens 

smile, 
As  golden  waves  of  sunlight  then  re-surge 
Over  each  stricken  thing  which  soon  they  purge 
Of  black  despair  and  sullen  hopelessness. 
The  world,  with  joys  re-found,  is  glad  once 

more, 
Forgetting  things  which  grieve  through  things 

which  bless. 


[      2      ] 


You  who  are  torn  in  spirit  and  in  mind, 

Yes  —  go   you   up    among   the   understanding 

hills 
For  oft,  when  fails  all  else,  those  wounds  kind 

nature  heals. 
And  in  each  aching  heart  her  peace  instils. 


C    3    ] 


A 


A  SPRING  IDYLL 

CLOUDLESS    sky    o'erhead,    a    genial 


sun 

Filtering  its  gleaming,  amber  rays 

Through  branches  and  the  newly-budding 
leaves, 

Dappling  the  forest  floor  for  our  enchanted 
gaze 

With  shadows  and  with  patches  of  bright  gold. 

In  the  mild  air  the  smell  of  earth  and  earthy 
mold 

And  scent  of  tiny  blooms  awakened  by  the  lays 

Of  murmuring  streams  which  onward  madly 
race 

Singing  of  their  release  from  winter's  chill  em- 
brace. 

A  West  wind  whispers  softly  through  the  trees, 


[    4    ] 


A  drowsy  hum  of  bees  comes  from  the  new-born 

flowers 
And  thrushes  chant  their  tuneful  litanies 
From  the  green  gloom  of  hidden,  leafy  bowers. 


[    5    1 


IN  A  PINE  FOREST 

1   WANDERED,  lonely,  'mid  the  murmur- 
ing pines, 
Lonely,  because  my  loved  one  was  away, 
Lonely  though  all  the  forest  seemed  to  sing 
With  joy  of  flowers  and  birds  and  magic  spring. 

Then  suddenly  my  loneliness  was  gone 

As  goes  black  night  at  coming  of  the  dawn. 

For  in  the  nodding  form  of  each  fair  flower 
The  image  of  my  loved  one  was  revealed 
And  in  the  West  wind's  sighing  through  each 

tree 
I  heard  my  loved  one  whispering  to  me. 


[    6    ] 


THE  TAJ  MAHAL 

FAR,  far  from  here  beyond  all  Western 
seas 
I  know  a  land  where  every  passing  breeze 
Wafts  to  me  ancient  lore  and  histories 
Voicing  its  tales  through  whisperings  of  the 

trees. 
Their  leafy  tongues  respond  to  each  caress 
Now  murmuring  low  of  rulers  and  their  queens 
Who  lived  and  saw  and  loved  and  died  —  ah 

yes, 
For  death  from  kings  a  harvest  also  gleans. 
But  when  come  tempests  and  wild  storm  winds 

blow, 
They  moan  strange  tales  of  famine,  plague  or 

blight, 
Of  secret  murders,  war  and  wide-spread  woe, 
For  this  is  India  whereof  I  write. 


C    7    ] 


In  this  far  land  there  is  a  tomb  so  fair 
That  those  who  view  its  wondrous  loveliness 
Are  held  spell-bound,  forgetting  every  care 
While  grief  and  pain  grow  for  the  moment  less. 
Built  by  the  mighty  Shah  Jehan  it  stands 
Of  love's  great  power  convincing  monument; 
Though  of  an  age  and  living  in  those  lands 
Where  men  took  many  wives,  he  was  content 
With  only  one.     But  so  adored  was  she 
That,  when  death  claimed  her,   single  he  re- 
mained 
For  all  his  days  and  in  her  memory 
Took  oath  that,  ere  his  reign  had  waned, 
He  would  erect  a  tomb  which  should  outlast 
In  beauty  and  in  perfect  symmetry 
All  tombs  of  years  to  come,  of  ages  past. 


[    8    ] 


Better  that  we  forget  the  cruelty, 

The  suffering  endured  by  countless  slaves 

Who    for   long,   weary   months    did   toil   and 

sweat, 
Yes  —  even   finding   through   this   work   their 

graves : 
The  architect  lest  he  should  e'er  beget 
Another  wonder-child  that  might  compare 
Was  robbed  of  eyes.     All  this  we  must  forget 
Since  most  great  things  to  which  the  world  falls 

heir 
Are  consummated  only  when  a  debt 
Of  pain  or  death  or  sorrow  has  been  paid. 
Few  men  who  wrought  with  pen  and  conquer- 
ing sword 
Have  traced  more  lastingly  with  ink  or  blade 
Upon  the  sands  of  time,  their  names'  record 


[    9    ] 


Than  this  frail  woman  whose  distinction  lay 
But  through  her  being  able  to  inspire 
A  love  which  knew  not  how  or  wished  to  stray 
E'en  after  perished  was  its  heart's  desire. 

'Mid  shrubbery  and  trees  this  fair  tomb  lies, 
Along  an  entering  path  white  fountains  play, 
A  pearl  set  in  the  turquoise  of  rare  skies 
And  emeralds,  thus  it  seems  to  one  by  day. 
Within,  reign  solemn  stillness  and  gray  gloom, 
Attendants,   silent-footed,  vigil  keep 
And    scatter    o'er    two    graves    the    jasmine's 

bloom 
Where  now  a  man  and  wife  sleep  their  last 

sleep ; 
For  after  death,  his  wishes  were  obeyed, 
The  Shah  Jehan  was  laid  beside  his  love. 
Upon  request  and  if  a  trifle  paid 
Some  guardian  chants  soft  notes;  dim  heights 

above 

[   10  ] 


Take  up  the  sounds  each  depth  re-echoing 
Till  sweet,  low  chords  are  filtered  downward 

when, 
Like  music  of  some  heavenly  choir,  these  ring 
Then  die  away  as  dies  a  hushed  amen. 

At  dusk  most  lovely  is  the  tomb  to  me: 
White  marble  walls  with  precious   stones  in- 
laid 
Take  on  the  tint  of  ancient  ivory 
As  the  rich,  golden  light  begins  to  fade; 
A  bit  of  carving  o'er  the  Western  door 
Appearing  almost  like  some  rare,  old  lace, 
The  sun  still  lingering  as  though  it  forebore 
To  leave  such  an  attractive  resting-place. 
More  human  now  it  seems  and  less  apart 
As  if  a  gentle  mother  who  doth  hark 
To  her  sad  children  with  kind,  pitying  heart. 
And  now  the  sky  is  swiftly  growing  dark 
For  twilight  here  lasts  but  a  moment  brief; 

C  "  ] 


Dim,  dimmer  still  those  fairy  outlines  show, 
One  hears  the  patter  of  some  falling  leaf 
Or  just  a  near-by  fountain's  rythmic  flow. 
All  else  is  wrapped  in  silence  tense,  profound, 
More  ghostly  looms  the  tomb  in  this  weird 

light 
As  though  some  mist-like  curtain  fell  around, 
A  warning  vanguard  of  approaching  night, 
Then  soon  black  darkness  creeps  out  from  its 

lair 
To  stretch  forth  and  envelop  everything. 
A  sudden  chill  pervades  the  evening  air 
Yet  long  I  sit  there  idly  pondering 
On  love,  its  wondrous  joys,  its  bitter  pain, 
Does  all  the  bliss  for  its  griefs  compensate? 
E'en  while  I  muse  the  blackness  yields  again, 
For  now  there  comes  a  moon  to  dissipate 


[    12    ] 


The  mists  and  lo !  that  white,  pure  sepulchre 
Gleams  out  once  more  ethereal,   shimmering, 
A  silent  but  convincing  arbiter, 
An  answer  to  my  thoughts  and  questioning. 


[  13  ] 


THE  BIRTH  OF  LOVE 

LOVE  comes  to  some  as  comes  the  rising 
sun 
In  tropic  lands  where  momentary  dawn 
Gives  briefest  warning  of  a  day  begun 
And  scarce  are  stars  behind  their  veils  with- 
drawn 
When,  bold,  impetuous  mounts  this  ball  of  light 
O'erwhelming  night  as  upward  now  it  darts. 
Just  so  this  passion-love,  born  of  first  sight, 
Overwhelms    with    sudden    rush    some    human 
hearts. 

To  others,  love  comes  as  the  evening  star 
When  we  sit  at  the  close  of  day  and  gaze 
With  weary  eyes  fixed  on  the  heavens  afar, 
Vast,  opalescent  dome  kissed  by  pale  rays 
Of  a  fast  waning  sun.     We  stare  and  stare 
Yet  view  naught  save  a  vacant  wall  of  sky 
Which  shades  to  hue  of  sapphires  as  the  air 

[  14  ] 


Is  tinged  with  sudden  chill  and  from  on  high 
Down  slides  the  fiery  orb  behind  gray  hills, 
Into  sad  valleys  of  gone  yesterdays. 
Lulled  by  a  peace  which  this   fair  scene  in- 
stils, 
We  droop  our  lids,  perchance,  like  one  who 

prays, 
Just  for  the  briefest  count,  and  now  behold! 
When  once  again  we  look  that  darkening  wall 
Is  bare  no  more ;  a  twinkling  point  of  gold, 
Still  pale  and  vague  but  quite  defined  withal, 
Peeps  forth  at  us  in  bashful  loveliness. 
This  waxing  star  was  surely  there  before 
As  were  the  loves  of  some  who  little  guess 
E'en  their  incipient  births  until  the  door 
Of  lonely  hearts  has  long  been  left  ajar. 
And  so,  as  with  this  child  of  twilight  skies, 
Those  loves,  which  yearning  hearts  may  not 

debar, 
Are  oft  long  gazed  at  with  unseeing  eyes. 

[  is  ] 


TO  ONE  WHO  SAILED  AWAY 

HOW  sinks  the  heart  and  fails 
When  to   far  lands  we  watch  depart 
some  ship 
That  bears  one  loved  till,  fading  out,  its  sails 
Below  the  sky  line  dip. 

Then  still  we  gaze  and  gaze 

Towards  where  their  ship  was  swallowed  in  the 

main, 
Yet  knowing  well  that  for  long,  weary  days 
Our  gazing  must  be  vain. 


[   16  ] 


Most  eyes  are  dimmed  by  tears; 
Some  men  weep  not,  but  is  their  grief  the  less? 
For  to  each  inner  soul  come  nameless  fears 
And  ah !  such  loneliness. 

O  ship,  swift  blow  the  wind 
That  wafts  thee  far,  so  earlier  be  thy  start 
For  havens  here  with  one  beloved  to  find 
The  haven  of  a  heart. 


C  17  3 


THE  WITCHES'  REVENGE 

DEEP  in  the  Southern  forests'  eerie,  mid- 
night gloom, 
When  lightning  flashes  and  thunder  crashes 
They  ride,  each  on  a  broom, 
Great  witches  gaunt  with  eyes  that  haunt, 
Foul  lips  that  shriek  of  doom. 

As  each  one  dashes  by,  the  branches  catch  her 

hair 
And  this  attaches  in  queer,  gray  patches, 
You  see  them  everywhere. 
Such  branches  die  and  shrivel  dry, 
The  witch-hair  still  clings  there. 


[   18   ] 


TO  ONE  BELOVED 

AS  chill,  gray  mists  of  early  morn 
All  vanish  at  the  sun's  caress, 
So  flee  my  cares  do  I  but  see 
Thy  loveliness. 

Yet  fairest  flowers,  if  deprived 
Of  moisture  or  God-given  dew, 
Must  surely  perish;  likewise  I 
If  robbed  of  you. 


[   19  ] 


LINES  AND  WHAT  LIES  BETWEEN 

LOOK  with  the  magic  of  thine  eyes 
On  these  dull  lines  then  thou  must  see 
A  wealth  of  words  between  them  lies, 
Words  traced  in  love  from  me  to  thee. 

For  each  one  that  defined  doth  grow 
I  pray  thee  from  thy  heart  to  send 
Me  back  a  thought  so  I  may  know 
That  thou  dost  surely  comprehend. 


[  20  ] 


TO  THE  NORTH  WIND  IN  WINTER 

WIND  of  the  North! 
Wind  from  the  land  of  everlasting 

snows ! 
What  are  the  weird,  wild  sounds 
You  bear  upon  your  wintry  blast; 
Are  they  some  un-stilled  echoes  of  your  cradle 

song? 
Was  it  'mid  frigid  cliffs  of  glaciers  gaunt  and 

bleak, 
Beneath  a  shuddering  sky  which  knows  no  sun, 
That  you  were  given  birth, 
Or  in  dank,  brooding  caverns  vast,  ice-walled, 
Reverberating  with  the  wail 
Of  subterranean  seas? 


[    2!     ] 


At  your  command, 

Behold!  great  rivers  check  their  onward  flow 
And  lakes  and  pools  are  cased  in  cloaks  of  cry- 
stal mail. 
Each,  fettered  by  the  icy  bonds  you  weld, 
Must  sleep  until  there  comes  a  vernal  sun 
Whose  rays  contain  the  dissipating  key. 

And  do  you  lonely  grow,  at  times, 
Your  dreaded  sister  of  the  East 
Is  summoned  from  her  fog-encumbered  skies; 
At  touch  of  your  chill  breath 
Her  veil  of  mist  to  veil  of  snow  is  changed, 
Then,  with  a  potency  two-fold, 
Together  you  assail  and  flay  a  cowering  world. 
Great   forests   are   laid  low,   great  ships   de- 
stroyed, 


[22    ] 


God's  handiwork  and  man's  —  and  men  them- 
selves — 

While  over  all, 

The  maimed,  the  slain,  you  drop  a  blinding 
shroud 

To  mask  your  wanton  deeds. 

Blow,  mighty  North  Wind,  blow 

Across  the  Arctic  Seas, 

Through  valleys,  over  hills,  to  the  abodes  of 

man. 
Roar  down  our  chimneys  and  with  sudden  gusts 
Dash  salvos  of  harsh  sleet  against  the  window 

panes 
And  make  us  draw  more  closely  'round  the 

hearth, 


[  23  ] 


Thankful  to  fate 

That  we  are  warm  and  safe  inside. 

But,  when  in  kindlier  mood, 

As  part  atonement  for  your  cruelty, 

Spread  fertilising  blankets  o'er  the  planted 
fields, 

The  thirst  of  drought-parched  springs  assuage 

And  weave  for  our  wondering  eyes  with  mys- 
tic snow 

On  bush,  on  tree,  on  those  same  window  panes 

Fantastic  figures  which  outvie, 

In  magic  of  design,  the  very  stars. 


[  24  ] 


TO  THE  SOUTH  WIND  AS  WINTER 
ENDS 

WIND  of  the  South! 
Wind  from  the  lands  of  sunshine  and 
of  flowers! 
How  softly  now  you  kiss  the  thawing  fields, 
Stirring    each    sleeping    thing    and    bidding    it 

awake, 
Crooning  through  fir  and  pine, 
Through  every  bush  and  tree, 
Your  resurrection  song. 

Behold!     At  your  approach,  the  ice  and  snow 
Which   long   have    shackled    fast   the   passive 

earth, 
Swift  disappear, 

The  cloak  of  faded  brown  that  lies  beneath, 
Changing  in  turn  to  one  of  living  green 
As  every  plant  gives  heed 
And  bares  frail,  verdant  shoots  to  your  caress. 

[  25  ] 


The  long-stilled  waters  of  small  brooks  and 
pools, 

Of  lakes,  of  rivers,  burst  the  crystal  film 

Which  binds  with  chill,  monotonous  embrace. 

Then  soon  these  waters  once  again  resume 

Their  various  play  and  happy  murmurings 

While  in  their  mirror  surfaces 

We  watch  the  lazy  clouds  go  sailing  by. 

In  these  same  waters,  too, 

The  sun,  deprived  of  them  for  many  a  day, 

His  glowing  face  may  lave; 

The  stars  and  moon 

A  thirst,  too  long  endured,  this  night  may  sat- 
isfy. 

Blow,  balmy  South  Wind,  blow 

From  far-off  tropic  seas, 

Through  forests  carpeted  with  giant  ferns 

And  strange,  exotic  blooms 

Which  thrive  but  in  the  impenetrable  shade; 

[  26  ] 


Where  gorgeous  butterflies  drift  to  and  fro 

Seeming  like  bits  of  rainbows  given  life. 

Blow  through  broad  groves  of  stately  palms 

And  stoop  sometimes  to  moisten  parched  lips 

In  lily-covered  lakes. 

Then,  wafting  on  your  healing,  amorous  blast 

Perfumes  from  each  place  visited, 

Steal  through  our  windows  in  the  early  dawn, 

Bringing  the  Sleeper  treasure-dreams 

Of  Springs  already  past, 

Bringing  to  those  who  lie  with  wakeful  eyes 

A  fragrant  promise  of  glad  Springs  to  come. 


[  27  ] 


BECAUSE  OF  THEE 

BECAUSE  of  thee, 
Things  which  to  me  were  meaningless 
before 
I  now  can  view  with  comprehending  eyes; 
The  forest  gives  me  of  its  secret  lore 
And  nature  bares  her  hidden  mysteries. 

Because  of  thee, 

Music  I  scarce  gave  ear  to  in  past  years 
Now  charms  and  thrills  me  with  a  mystic  power 
And  sometimes  brings  to  eyes  strange,  sudden 

tears 
Or  makes  me  heedless  of  the  fleeting  hour. 


[   28   ] 


Because  of  thee, 

At  dawn  the  heavens  gleam  with  hues  more 

rare, 
More  beauty  in  the  sun-set  skies  I  see, 
The  flowers  grow  more  fragrant  and  more  fair, 
The  whole  world  seems  more  wonderful  to 

me. 


[  29  ] 


MEMORIES 

HOW  sad  at  times  seem  recollected  words, 
Words  that  were  murmured  with  our 
loved  one's  fleeting  breath, 
And  sad  the  memory  of  a  last  caress; 
Who  is  it  calls  thee  kind,  O  death? 

How  sad  is  just  an  empty,  little  glove 
Which  still  retains   the   fragrance   of  a  van- 
ished hand, 
The  haunting  odor  of  some  favorite  flower, 
The  sudden  end  of  things  we  planned. 

And  ah!  how  sad  is  music  or  a  song 

Dear  to  those  gone  before,  whose  words  and 

strains  remind; 
Echoes  from  lands  of  all  that  might  have  been; 
O  death,  I  ne'er  could  call  thee  kind! 


C30  ] 


TO  A  LOVED  ONE 

FAIR  as  the  vision  of  a  summer  moon 
Reflected   on   the   bosom   of   an   inland 
sea 
Or  of  bright  stars  viewed  near  the  edge  of 

thunder  clouds, 
Thou  art  so  fair  to  me. 

Dear  as  the  memories  of  days  gone  by, 
Days  when  I  knew  not  pain  or  e'en  a  single 

tear, 
Of  gladdest  dreams  and  things  most  treasured 

in  past  years, 
To  me  thou  art  so  dear. 

Sweet  as  the  fragrance  of  arbutus  blooms 
Which  trail  in  mossy  nooks  and  thrive  from 

man  apart 
Or  of  a  full-blown  orchard  visited  at  dusk, 
So  sweet  to  me  thou  art. 

[  31  ] 


NATURE'S  SECRET 

FOR   ages   men   have   sought   in   vain   to 
learn 
Of  Alchemy  the  secret;  how  to  turn 
Plain  silver  into  gold, 

One  thing  into  another  of  a  greater  worth. 
But  nature  still  the  answer  doth  withhold 
Though    flaunting    her    own    power    through 

methods  manifold; 
For  as  the  sun  up-mounts  the  sky  each  morn, 
Where  moon-made  silver  lay  the  night  before, 
Patches  of  shimmering  gold  these  spots  adorn 
And  what  were  naught  but  dew-drops,  if  we 

now  explore 
Behold !  bright  crystals  in  their  stead  are  born. 


[  32  ] 


LETTERS  AND  ART 

This  poem  was  written  to  be  read  before  the  <£  B  K 
Society  at  the  annual  meeting  held  in  Philadelphia,  Decem- 
ber, 1915. 

LETTERS  and  Art! 
What    magic    lies    in    these    twin-sister 
words, 
They  conjure  up  what  wealth  of  mental  imagery 
For  all  who  strive  to  understand, 
Who  seek  to  press  beyond  those  narrow  paths 
Which  bound  the  little  lives  of  everyday. 
Letters  and  Art !     Two  potent  words 
For  ever  they  must  help  to  shape  men's  des- 
tinies. 


To-day  —  perhaps  to-morrow  —  we  discuss 
Brave  records  of  some  world-inspiring  deed, 
Some  noble  act, 


c  33  ] 


Some  goal  attained  by  might  of  sword  alone; 
And  yet  how  soon  these  records  all  must  pass 
Into  oblivion's  void 
Unless  they  be  writ  down  within  the  book  of 

years 
By  Art's  deep-graving  tool 
Or  clear  illumined  letter  of  the  Scribe. 


Art  came  to  man  ere  letters.     First  up-sprung 

The  glories  of  an  Ancient  Greece, 

Fair  wonder-forms  of  stone  which  still  stand 

forth 
As  mighty  monuments  to  master-minds. 
Long  ages  have  elapsed 
Since  these  great  children  of  great  thoughts 
Were  given  birth  and  shape, 
Yet  still  from  zone  to  zone, 
O'er  all  the  vast  world  civilised, 
Unto  this  day 


C  34  3 


Greece  shows  the  perfect  models  of  a  perfect 

art. 
Though  we  be  quite  un-knowing,  art  must  ever 

weave 
Refining  bonds  of  influence 
Around  our  high  desires  and  mold  our  very 

lives. 


As  centuries  rolled  by 

Vain  men  have  sought  to  innovate 

Creations  of  their  own, 

Yet  most  creations  which  survive 

The  sure,   discriminating  test  of  time, 

Contain  some  element  defined  or  classic  sign 

Filched  from  a  Greek  original. 

Then,  in  a  flood  all  glorious,  letters  came.     And 

now, 
When  we  the  pages  of  our  books  turn  o'er, 
[  35  ] 


What    treasures    lie    exposed    for    wondering 

eyes. 
According  to  our  momentary  mood, 
Here  we  the  inmost  thoughts  may  share 
Of  poet,  sage,  philosopher 
Whose  words  are  vital  on  this  very  day 
Though  the  man  breathing  them  is  dead 
Perhaps  a  thousand  years  ago. 
And  so  we  learn  that  deeds  of  men 
Die  not  when  men  die  but,  if  good  or  bad, 
Writ  down  may  live  immortalised 
And  given  thus  to  all  posterity, 
Are  praised  or  are  despised. 


So  if  we  but  reflect  each  one  must  comprehend 
What  wealth  of  dower  comes  to  all 
Who  seek  and  woo  successfully 


[36  ] 


Or  art's  elusive  muse  or  literature's; 

For  surely  it  must  thrill  the  human  soul 

To  feel  that  one's  own  thoughts 

May  be  transmitted  to  one's  fellow  men 

Through  mediums  far-reaching  and  secure 

Of  painting,   writing,   music  or  the   sculptor's 

craft. 
And  surely  this  same  knowledge  should  bring 

forth 
All  that  is  best  in  us  and  should  inspire 
Each  one  to  seek  fair,  lofty  goals 
Which  seemed  beyond  our  reach  before. 

Such  passion  for  expression  knows  no  bounds; 
Even  the  uncouth  savage  who  exists 
Merely  from  day  to  day, 


[37  ] 


Whose  life's  horizon  bounded  seems 

By  lusts  for  food,  for  flesh,  for  fighting  and  for 
sleep, 

Not  far  removed  from  animals  he  lives,  he 
dies. 

Yet  most  of  these  same  savages 

On  rocks,  on  clay  may  trace  their  crude  de- 
signs, 

Recording  thus  their  narrow,  void  careers 

And  fashion   forms  of  pottery 

In  primitive  attempt  at  art. 

Once  even  such  as  they  create,  they  pass  be- 
yond 

The  small,  ignoble  few 

Who  in  an  uncreating  darkness  dwell. 

It  might  well  be  maintained 

That  men's  gradation  in  the  human  scale 

May  be  adjudged 

By  what  each  has  of  letters  or  of  art. 

[  38  ] 


And  we  who  gather  in  this  hall  to-night 

I  am  quite  sure  experience  at  times 

Strange  feelings  not  unmixed  with  awe 

At  sight  of  some  fair  monument, 

Of  painting  rare,  of  temple's  sacred  fane 

Or  when  some  passage  exquisite  we  scan 

Or  listen  to  the  pulsing,  rythmic  throb 

Of  music's  magic  strains. 

Why  that  same  awe  to  wonder  turns 

And  of  a  sudden  comes  to  inmost  selves  the 

thought 
That  these  same  things  of  beauty  may  have 

charmed 
Ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand  eyes, 
Ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand  ears. 


And  whether  we  be  moved  by  master-works 

of  man 
Or  master-works  by  God  and  nature  formed, 


[  39  ] 


Emotions  much  the  same  in  most  of  us  are 
born. 

Silent  perhaps,  we  listen  or  we  gaze 

Yet  filled  with  many  words  which,  though  un- 
voiced, 

Contain  the  mystic  quality  of  prayer. 


[  40  ] 


THE  DIFFERENCE 

I  LISTEN  to  the  words  of  some  and  yet 
They  make  no  more  impression  than  a 
wind 
Which  darts  across  still  pools  and  leaves  be- 
hind 
The  surface  ruffled  where  it  stoops  to  wet 
Parched  lips,  then  hurries  swiftly  on  once  more. 
Faint  ripples  mark  each  spot;  they  widen,  wane 
And  in  a  moment  all  is  calm  again, 
The  pools  more  placid  seeming  than  before. 


[41  ] 


But  mighty  glaciers  of  an  age  long  past, 
That  forced  from  mountain  heights  their  cer- 
tain way, 
Though  vanished  now  themselves,  on  rocks,  on 

clay, 
On   everything   which   touched   those   borders 

vast 
Have  deeply  carved  their  record,  lasting,  clear. 
Yet  not  more  deeply,  not  more  lastingly 
Than  now  is  carved  upon  my  memory 
Each  word  that  thou  hast  voiced  for  me  to 
hear. 


C  42  ] 


BELIEF 

SURELY  you  were  not  born,  dear  love, 
As   we   poor   mortals    here   were   given 
birth. 
Ah,  no !     I  think  some  radiant  star 
Fell,  weary,  from  the  heavens  above 
And  you  had  come  to  grace,  a  while,  our  earth. 

Surely,  dear  love,  you  cannot  die 

As  others  must  who  live  upon  this  sphere. 

Ah,  no !     A  fair,  new  star  will  be 

Discovered  in  the  evening  sky 

Then  we  will  find  that  you  are  gone  from  here. 


[43  ] 


TO  A  WILD  ROSE 

BORN  with  the  breath  of  wood  nymphs 
fanning  thee, 
Laved  by  the  early  morning  dew, 
Thy  shade  of  pink  was  filched  from  Eastern 

skies 
Just  ere  the  sun  appeared  in  view. 

As  this  sun  rose,  thy  heart  became  pale  gold, 
All  day  its  warmth  helped  thee  to  grow, 
At  eve  a  drowsy  brook  lulls  thee  to  rest, 
Thy  slumber  song  the  night  winds  blow. 

Wild  rose  we  name  thee  while  thou  givest  us 

Thy  fair,  pink  beauty  and  sweet  scent, 

Or   is    this   not   the   wood   nymphs*    fragrant 

breath 
Which  fanned  and  made  thee  redolent? 


[44] 


IN  A  MIRROR 

IF  near  my  lips  a  mirror  should  be  held 
I  think  upon  its  surface  thou  couldst  see, 
Were  I  awake  or  in  my  hours  of  dreams, 
Thy  dear  name  breathed  in  mist-like  tracery. 


[  45  ] 


THREE  QUESTIONS 

THERE  came  one  to  me  asking  questions 
three ; 
"  Hast  thou  e'er  been  aroused  from  some  fair 

dream 
And,  while  but  half  awake,   thought  that  to 

thee 
Came  strains  of  music  which  did  almost  seem 
As  though  from  Heavenly  choirs  they  must 

be?" 
11  Nay,"    answered    I.     "  Yet,    even   were    all 

mine  the  choice, 
More  wonderful  to  me  would  be  my  loved  one's 

voice." 

Then,  questioning  again,  my  friend  inquired 
"  Hast  thou  perchance  sat  on  some  winter  night 
Before  thy  lonely  hearth  when  it  transpired 
That  thou  didst  feel  a  ghostly  touch  though 
sight 

[46  ] 


Revealed  not  one  whom  thou  hadst  most  de- 
sired?" 

11  Nay,"  I  replied,  "  such  things  I  need  not  un- 
derstand 

For  I  may  feel  and  see  my  own  beloved's 
hand." 

"  Now  tell  me  finally,  hast  thou  e'er  trod 
With  faltering  feet  upon  thy  weary  way 
When,  suddenly,  it  seemed  as  if  kind  God 
Awarded  that  for  which  thou  oft  didst  pray, 
Hast  thou  e'er  glimpsed  at  Heaven  nor  deemed 

this  odd?" 
14  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  my  friend,"  he  looked  up 

in  surprise, 
"  Yes,  often,  have  I  gazed  into  my  loved  one's 

eyes." 


[  47  ] 


TO  THOSE  WHO  VIGIL  KEEP 

SOMETIMES  the  look  of  pain  or  utter 
weariness 
On  a  dear  face  of  one  about  to  leave 
For  unknown  realms  we  mortals  may  not  guess, 
Is  banished  even  as  we  watch  and  grieve 
While,  in  its  place, 
A  sweetness,   ah!  how  wonderful,   doth  now 

succeed, 
As  though,  in  death,  we  saw  reflected  on  this 

face 
Expressions  of  the  angels  who  have  come 
From  those  far  realms  beyond  the  stars  to  lead 
Our  waiting  loved  one  home. 


[48  ] 


IN  A  GARDEN 

I   SAT  one  day  within  a  garden  fair 
Pining  for  thee  and  sad  because  alone, 
Wishing  some  fate  could  send  thee  to  me  there. 

All   things    appeared   to    share   my   saddened 

mood, 
Each  flower  drooped,  the  sun  was  hid  from 

view, 
The  very  birds  in  silence  seemed  to  brood. 

Then,   as  I  day-dreamed  with  my  eyes  half 

closed, 
Sudden  the  birds  began  to  sing  again, 
The  flow'rs,  uplifting  heads,  no  longer  dozed. 

Thinking  the  sun  had  come  once  more  for  me 
And  for  all  nature,  to  effect  such  change, 
I  turned  and  lo  1  saw  not  the  sun  but  thee. 

[  49  ] 


SUNSET  AND  THUNDER  CLOUDS 

GREAT  banks  of  storm  clouds,  leaden- 
hued,  appear 
Up-mounting  in  far,  Western,  sunset  skies, 
Each  border  shifting  shape  as  the  clouds  rise, 
Now  jagged  peak,  now  chasm  yawning  sheer. 

These  armies  of  the  mist  the  sun  now  claim 
Yet,  in  his  waning,  potent  still  he  seems 
For,  as  he  is  engulfed,  each  cloud-edge  gleams 
And  sudden  bursts  into  a  fringe  of  flame. 


c  50  ] 


BENEATH  A  WINDOW 

DEAR  heart,  beneath  your  window, 
I  picture  in  my  mind  a  bed  of  flowers, 
Rare,  tiny,  fragrant  violets, 
Lifting  fair  faces  to  the  sun  and  showers. 


For  did  you  not  confide  that  once 

You  leaned  without  and  wept  through  loneli- 
ness? 

So  now  I  think  there  must  be  sprung 

A  bloom  where  fell  each  tear  which  you  con- 
fess. 


[  5i  ] 


THE  SCENT  OF  ROSES 

AS  written  letters,  on  a  page  that  burns, 
Grow  faint  and  fainter  till  some  magic 
flame, 
Quite  different  from  the   others,  makes  each 

name 
Stand  out  distinct  just  ere  the  paper  turns 
To  pale,  gray  ashes;  so  likewise  with  me 
When  fades  thy  vision  in  my  wearied  brain 
And  comes  the  scent  of  roses.     For  again, 
As  if  by  magic,  now  immediately 
The  vision  rises  clear  and  sharp  defined. 
Yet,  to  each  dying  word  those  flames  renew 
Its  life  but  for  a  moment  while  I  view 
Thy   face   within   my   strengthened   brain   en- 
shrined 
Long  after  fail  these  perfumes  which  remind. 


[  52  ] 


THE  ISLAND  OF  FORGETFULNESS 

THERE  is  an  island  in  a  far-off  sea 
Which  lies,  like  some  rare  emerald,  in 
a  blue 
As  deep  as  that  of  sapphires  yet  but  few 
E'er  reach  this  isle  to  anchor  in  the  lea, 
Though  many  start  weighed  down  by  misery. 
The  skies  overhead  are  always  wondrous  fair, 
The  spring  is  never-ending  and  the  flow'rs 
Fade  not  or  die ;  the  all  too  fleeting  hours 
Are  passed  in  bliss,  each  wholly  free  from  care. 

'Tis  called  The  Island  of  Forgetfulness ; 
There  dreams  come  true  and  what  one  most 

desires 
Is  ne'er  denied,  but  without  fail  transpires. 
All  those  who  land  and  feel  the  soft  caress 
Of  winds  that  waft  their  welcome  from  the 

marge, 

C  53  ] 


Are  charmed  by  some  strange,  unseen  power 

and  soon 
Forget  the   past;  then  God  grants  them  the 

boon 
Of  life  just  for  the  present,  and  in  charge 
Of  kindly  fates  who  dry  away  all  tears. 
And  ah,  how  few  are  those  who,  when  they 

reach 
The  much-sought  shores,  are  able  to  remain; 
Most  stay  a  little  while  and  then  again 
Sadly  they  set  their  sails  for  lands  where  each 
Must  tread  once  more  the  paths  of  grief  and 

pain. 
Yet  blest  are  all  who  rest  e'en  but  a  day 
In  this  retreat  for  as  remembered  dreams 
Oft-times    refresh    our    waking    thoughts,    it 

seems 
The  memories  of  glad  hours  of  joy  convey 
New  strength  to  help  us  on  our  weary  way. 

[  54  ] 


This  island  you  and  I  may  also  know, 
Perchance  to-morrow  or  in  after  years; 
But  we  can  surely  find  it  if  love  steers 
Our  seeking  ship  and  we  together  go; 
Nor  matters  then  how  stormy  winds  may  blow. 


[  55  ] 


THE  SEA 

HOW  many  secrets  does  this  vast  thing 
keep, 
This  thing  men  call  the  sea,  and  in  its  depths, 
How  many  of  these  men  lie  silently, 
Grim  victims  of  a  might  they  fought  in  vain? 


Great  vessels  boldly  start  to  sail  across 

These  waters,  vessels  boasting  of  their  strength; 

Then   strikes  the  tempest,   hungry  waves  up- 
reach; 

Where  are  those  vessels,  where  this  vaunted 

power? 

Some  stagger  to  their  ports  in  crippled  shape 

While  others,  after  struggling  for  a  while, 

Give  up  the  fight  with  final,  frantic  plunge. 


c  56  ] 


Slowly  they  sink  at  first  but  gather  speed 
When  now  mad  waters  lap  their  topmost  rails, 
Then   down   each   slides   with   sullen,    sobbing 

sound 
Muffled  by  roar  of  gale  and  conquering  wave. 
A  few  on  board  may  manage  to  escape 
And  bring  home  awesome  tales  for  wondering 

ears, 
Tales  of  sad,  aimless  drifting  in  small  boats, 
Wild  hunger,  deadly  thirst  and  hideous  fears. 
The  rest, —  a  helpless  crew  on  helpless  ships, 
Bound    for   strange   ports   uncharted   and  un- 

guessed, 
While  through  the  shattered  windows  or  the 

doors, 
Huge  fish  and  loathsome,  slimy  creatures  pass 
Searching    each    corner  —  weird,    unwelcome 

guests. 


[  57  ] 


If  wind  and  wave  have  failed  to  satisfy 
With  victims  for  an  ocean's  greedy  maw 
Perchance  the  ice  receives  its  fell  command; 
Floating  almost  submerged  and  hard  to  view, 
A  fearful  bulk  which  rends  the  stoutest  plank. 
Or   sight-destroying   fog   through  which   men 

pass 
Yet  cannot  see  and  so  run  on  dread  rocks. 
Or  sunken  reefs  which  stretch  forth  waiting 

arms, 
Like  clinging  tentacles,  and  gather  toll. 
Yes,  many  weapons  does  this  vast  thing  know 
But  deadliest, —  those  battered,  drifting  hulks 
Abandoned  by  their  crew,  with  decks  awash, 
No  lights  to  warn  at  night, —  the  derelicts. 
Grim  vagary  of  fate  that  these  ghost-ships 
Already  perished,  should  be  left  to  give 
A  death  blow  to  those  other  ships  which  sail 
Unconscious  of  this  menace,  till  it  strikes. 

c  58  ] 


"  Creature  of  moods  thou  art,  O  mighty  sea, 
With  temper  ruled  by  whence  the  winds  may 

blow. 
If  come  fair  breezes  from  thy  Southern  shores 
Reminding  thee  of  tropic  heat  and  calms, 
Quite  lazily  thou  art  content  to  drowse. 
When    storms    descend    recalling    gale-swept 

coasts, 
As  though  in  sympathy  thy  bosom  heaves, 
And  thou  dost  rise  in  wild,  tumultuous  rage. 

"  Most  things  which  hear  thy  call,  the  ships,  the 

men, 
Small  mountain  streams  that  start  on  distant 

way 
Acquiring  strength  as  other  streams  join  in, 
And  finally,  great  rivers,  reach  their  goal, 
Most  shall  be  lost  in  thy  immensity. 


[  59  ] 


The    rivers    when    they    cross    thy    bars,    the 

ships, — 
Perchance  their  first  day  out  should  fate  agree, 
Or  mayhap  some  will  sail  until  long  years 
Have  caused  each  plank  to  rot ;  thou  wilt  obtain 
Just  worthless  bones.     All  men  who  do  persist 
In  tempting  thy  forbearance  over  long, 
As  grim  reward  these  also  dost  thou  claim. 

u  Below  thy  surface,  in  thy  silent  deeps, 
A  weird  and  watery  world  without  a  sky, 
We  know  tall  mountains,  valleys,  plains,  exist 
Quite  like  those  here  above.     And  yet  for  us 
Who  know  thy  ways,  we  picture  in  these  deeps 
A  land  of  gruesome  harbors  for  dead  ships, 
Of  tombs  for  perished  men,  a  land  of  ghosts, 
Mysterious  gloom  and  everlasting  night." 


[  60  ] 


AS  A  MIRROR  — SO  MY  HEART 

FOR  those  who  stricken  lie  upon  their  beds 
of  pain, 
The  plain,  gray  mirror  by  some  window  placed 
Is  turned,  when  comes  the  day,  into  a  magic 

thing 
On  which  the  wonders  of  a  world  outside  are 

traced. 
Yet  this  same  magic  thing  when  vanishes  the 

day, 
Becomes  again  naught  but  a  mirror  plain  and 

gray. 


And  so  my  heart  when  thou  approacheth  near, 
Thrilling  with  strange,  sweet  joys,  becomes  a 

treasure-store 
Yet  when  thou  dost  depart,  ah  then,  dear  love, 
Only  an  empty  heart  it  is  once  more. 

[  61  ] 


TO  A  VIOLET 

FROM  what  vast,  secret,  hidden  source 
Dost  thou  obtain  thy  wondrous  dower 
Of  fragrance  and  fair  loveliness, 
O  little,  purple  flower? 

Thy  beauty  shames  that  of  the  rose 
While  on  thy  virgin  breast,  at  dawn, 
Gleam  dew-drops, —  Nay,  are  they  the  tears 
Of  fairies  just  now  gone? 

And  from  thy  heart  dost  thou  dispense 
Perfumes  of  lands  both  East  and  West; 
Mysterious  combination  rare; 
Yes,  thou  art  very  blest. 


[  62  ] 


HOW  DIFFERENT 

AS  thrills  a  harp  when  struck  by  certain 
hands, 
Seeming,  almost,  as  though  with  life  imbued 
But  answers  not  for  others  when  they  seek 
Upon  its  potent  silence  to  intrude, 


So,  at  the  magic  of  a  loved  one's  touch, 
Our  heart  strings  throb  and  thrills  our  inmost 

soul, 
Yet  both  for  others  unresponsive  lie, 
Nor  matter  with  what  wiles  these  would  cajole. 


C  63  ] 


At  times  a  forest  dell,  in  shadow  still, 

Quite  dull  appears  though  graced  with  many  a 

flower, 
Then  comes  the  sun  or  moon,  at  once  for  us 
This  spot  is  changed  into  a  perfect  bower. 


And  often  when  we  stand  within  some  room, 
Though  filled  with  many  persons  it  may  be, 
Lonely  and  void  the  room  seems  to  our  eyes 
Until  the  face  of  one  beloved  we  see. 


C  64] 


AUTUMN 

AFTER  THE   FIRST    FROST 

SOME   Spirit   of  the   North   has   hovered 
near, 
First  vanguard  of  great  hosts  which  follow  on 
Perchance  to-day,  perchance  not  yet  awhile; 
But  they  have  left  the  land  of  lasting  snows 
And  like  grim  fates  are  started  on  their  way. 
Already  plants  and  trees  have  felt  the  breath 
That  withers  and  destroys  their  verdant  life; 
A  seared  and  yellow  leaf,  a  wilted  bloom, 
A  shade  of  brown  where  yesterday  was  green, 
These  tell  us  that  the  Summer  now  is  o'er, 
While  Autumn  drear  and  sad  comes  on  apace. 


1 65  ] 


Henceforth  all  nature  drowses  and  doth  seek 
Some  sheltered  spot  where  it  may  lie  and  rest 
Through  Winter  days  grown  brief  and  length- 
ening nights, 
In  that  deep  slumber  so  akin  to  death. 
The  wind  that  whispered  softly  through  the 

trees, 
Blows  fitfully  and  moans  with  ghost-like  sound, 
Voicing  its  tale  of  coming  frost  and  snow. 

Wild  creatures  both  of  forest  and  of  field 
Heed  well  the  warning  that  is  given  them. 
No  longer  do  we  hear  an  insect's  drone, 
The  booming  sound  of  frogs  or  hum  of  bees; 
For  they  have  found,  each  one,  a  hidden  lair 
And  in  these  dark  retreats  their  silence  keep. 
Look  closely,  you  will  see  the  tiny  squirrels 
In  busy  search  for  nuts  and  various  food 
Which  now  for  future  use  they  hoard  away, 
Oblivious  to  their  present  hunger-cry. 
[  66  1 


The  birds  of  flight  have  heard  the  Southing  call 
And  wing  their  certain  way  to  warmer  climes: 
Whence  comes  the  mystic  call  and  how  con- 
veyed 
Just  what  directs  that  straight,  unerring  flight, 
Is  known  to  God,  but  not  to  you  and  me. 


Ah !     Strangely  quiet  is  the  wood  to-day 
Since  nature  now  to  rest  hath  lain  her  down 
But  we  have  faith  this  stillness  cannot  last, 
That   at   some    future    time   when   comes   the 

spring, 
Warm,  conquering  winds  will  blow  from  out  the 

South 
And    drive    back    to    their    frozen,    ice-bound 

shores, 
Chill  spirits  of  the  North  which  long  held  sway. 
Then  birds  will  sing  again,  this  forest  gloom 
As  if  by  magic  touch  will  disappear; 


[  67  ] 


The  plants  and  trees  will  waken   from  their 

dreams, 
All  living  things  that  creep  or  move  on  wings, 
Each, —  strengthened   by   its    long,    life-giving 

sleep. 


[  68  ] 


THE  WITCHING  HOUR 

TO  those   who   stroll   amid   cool   forests* 
gloom 
There  comes  at  times  the  fragrance  of  some 

bloom 
Which  grows  unseen  and  hidden  from  all  view 
Yet  sends  this  perfumed  message  to  the  few 
Who    happen   near,    and   makes    its    presence 

known. 
Likewise,  sometimes  when  I  sit  quite  alone, 
A  sudden  feeling  comes  that  thou  art  there 
Invisible  yet  close  beside  my  chair. 


But  when  almost  expectantly  I  turn, 

Both  hands  outstretched  towards  what  I  can 

discern 
Only  with  eyes  tight  closed,  then  instantly 
I  realise  that  thou  art  fled  from  me 


[  69  ] 


As  fragrance  of  the  hidden  bloom  swift  flees 
Before  some  vagrant,  dissipating  breeze, 
Giving  us  but  its  memory  to  remind. 
Yet  thy  departing  spirit  leaves  behind 
A  subtle  pledge,  for  I  could  almost  swear 
There  lingers  on  the  fragrance  of  thy  hair, 
More  dear  to  me  than  scent  of  rarest  flowers, 
A  comfort  in  my  dark  and  lonely  hours. 


[  70  ] 


THE  SEA  WOLVES 

GREAT,  slimy  monsters  of  the  cruel  sea, 
Wolves  of  a  watery  world,  relentless, 
grim, 
How  stealthily  on  gruesome  quest  they  move, 
Searching  the  depths  with  small,  pale,  lidless 

eyes; 
Unblinking,  sleepless  both  by  night  and  day, 
Naught  in  their  puny  brains  save  lust  for  blood ; 
Ready  to  dash  at,  seize  and  then  devour 
Even  a  crippled  brother;  none  are  spared. 


In  vessels'  ruffled  wakes  they  trail  along 
Or  sullenly  drift  by  whene'er,  becalmed 
These  vessels  wallow,  windless,  in  the  trough 
With  sails  reflected  on  a  glassy  sea. 
Sudden  is  cleft  the  surface  by  sharp  fins 
Attached  to  shadow-bulks  that  glide  beneath. 

[  71  ] 


"  The   Sharks !     The   Sharks !  "     Strong  men 

pass  on  these  words 
Then  hurry,  each  one  curious,  to  the  rail ; 
Seeming  by  some  odd  fascination  held, 
At  those  detested  shapes  spell-bound  they  gaze. 
To  most  come  thoughts,  unsummoned,  of  far 

homes 
Which  sudden  seem  more  distant  than  before. 
Some  few  may  coarsely  jest,  a  few  may  curse 
But  in  the  hearts  of  all  I  think  there  creeps 
A  feeling  of  strange  awe,  of  loneliness. 

Should  storms  descend 

Resistless,  overwhelming  these  proud  ships 
Until,  sad,  battered  hulks  they  disappear, 
As  each  one  slowly  sinks,  the  sharks  now  swim 
In  ever  lessening  circles  then,  grown  bold, 
They  pass  through  shattered  doors  and  soon  be- 
come 
Weird  pilots  for  uncharted  ports  unguessed. 

[  72  ] 


"  Quite  different  from  most  other  things  which 

swim, 
Strange  mammals  giving  birth  unto  your  young, 
With  mouth  so  placed  that  you  must  partly 

turn 
On  back  or  side  ere  you  may  seize  your  prey, 
With  fangs,  saw-edged,  arranged  like  shears  to 

cleave 
And  pointing  down  towards  maws  insatiate 
So  things  once  seized  upon  cannot  escape, 
When  you  were  planned, 
Great,  loathsome  gluttons,  feared,  abhorred  by 

all, 
Aye!     Nature  surely  was  in  hateful  mood." 


[  73  ] 


THE  TENNIS  MATCH 

KEEN  and  alert  and  with  combative  eye, 
Two  white-clad  figures  on  a  ground  of 
green, 
They  face  each  other  with  the  net  between. 

For  one  brief  count  immovable  they  poise 
(As  hawks  poise   sometimes   ere   they   down- 
ward sheer) 
Then  darts  across  the  net  a  speeding  sphere. 

Driven  by  hard-swung  racket,  this  now  seems 
A  signal  which  brisk,  sudden  action  brings; 
Each  white-clad  figure  into  motion  springs. 


[  74  ] 


Silent,   their  straining  lips   tight-pressed,   they 

glide 
With  panther-grace  and  swiftly  flashing  feet, 
A  point  to  press  or  an  attack  to  meet. 


And  when  the  match  is  o'er,  a  word  of  praise 
To  victor  by  the  vanquished  —  no  ill-will; 
The  game,  the  fight  good  sportsmanship  instil. 


[  75  ] 


AT  PARTING 

FAREWELL!     Ah     drear,     sad     word, 
thou  canst  but  bring 
Long  heart-aches  and  an  ending  of  the  spring 
To  those  who  love  and  yet  must  separate. 
Still,  they  have  hopes  of  meeting  soon  again 
While  treasured  recollections  lessen  pain; 
The  past  is  theirs;  to-morrows  they  await. 

Yes,  far  more  sad  are  those  who  say  good-bye 
For  always  and  who,  hopeless,  weep  or  sigh 
At  thought  of  dear,  glad  hours  that  come  no 

more; 
Of  glances  from  loved  eyes  now  dimmed  by 

death, 
Of   words    low   murmured    with    the    fleeting 

breath. 
Oh  thoughts  which  haunt  and  burn  1     Oh  days 

of  yore! 

c  76  ] 


And  now  when  thou  and  I  perforce  must  go 
By  different  paths,  remember  that  although 
These  paths  may  wind  and  lead  our  steps  afar, 
They  will  unite  again.     Grieve  not  since  thus 
We  are  so  blest  with  mem'ries  and  for  us 
The  door  of  future  years  remains  ajar. 


[  77  ] 


DAWN  IN  JUNE 

THE  world  seems  wrapped  in  hushed  ex- 
pectancy, 
Stilled  is  the  sough  of  wind  through  reed  and 

tree, 
Stilled  are  all  night  sounds  but  the  rythmic 

drone 
Of  insects  which  themselves  have  drowsy  grown. 

The  sky  itself,  the  vaulted  dome  of  space, 
Now  turns  more  dark  while  each  star  shows  its 

face 
A  trifle  brighter  just  as  though  it  knew 
How  soon  in  Eastern  skies  would  come  to  view 
An  orb  before  whose  glowing,  conquering  fire, 
Starlight  must  pale  then  instantly  expire. 


[  78  ] 


And  so,  as  oft-times  things  about  to  die, 
More  lovely  show  themselves,  likewise  on  high 
Those   stars  with  two-fold  radiance   seem  to 

shine ; 
They  bathe  all  in  their  light  yet  naught  define. 


A  little  while  then  far-off  Eastern  skies 

Are  streaked  with  bars  of  gray  as  darkness 

dies. 
At  this  first  sign  some  bird  gives  forth  its  call; 
Ten  thousand  others  answer  to  enthrall, 
Each  one,  a  listening  mate  that  tends  the  brood, 
Hearing  again  sweet  songs  with  which  'twas 

wooed 
And  these  combine  in  one  great  paean  of  joy, 
Soft  wondrous  music  that  could  never  cloy. 


[  79  ] 


The  very  air  throbs  with  glad  melody 
As  gray-streaked  heavens  brighten  rapidly 
Changing  dark  shades  for  gay,  prismatic  hues 
Until  the  sun  itself  comes  to  suffuse 
All  nature  with  its  warm,  life-giving  rays. 
Pale  mists  swift  vanish  even  as  we  gaze, 
Each  blade  of  grass  dries  up  its  dewy  tears, 
Each  thing,  that  breathes  of  night,  now  dis- 
appears. 


c  so  ] 


WHEN  A  LOVED  ONE  IS  NEAR 

WHEN  a  loved  one  is  near, 
How   eloquent   the    silence    of   deep 
woods, 
The  piping  of  a  robin  In  the  rain, 
The    song    of    thrushes    watching    o'er    their 
broods, 


A  sudden  dash  of  sleet  against  the  pane 
Or  lisping  patter  of  soft-drifting  snow, 
The  fire's  cheerful  crackle  from  the  hearth 
When  moaning  storm  winds  blow. 


[  81  ] 


How  wonderful  to  watch  the  Eastern  sky 
As  darkness  dies  and  dawn's  bright  hosts  ap- 
pear 
Then  later,  see  the  daylight  fade  in  turn, 
When  a  loved  one  is  near. 

But  with  our  loved  one  gone, 
These  same  things  no  unusual  charm  possess, 
Their  meaning  fails,  we  comprehend  them  not 
Yet  oft  they  bring  a  strange,  vague  loneliness. 


[   82   ] 


TO  A  STAR 

FAIR  star  of  a  fair,  August  sky, 
Child  of  the  summer  sun  and  moon, 
What  is  thy  sudden,  sweet,  unlooked-for  boon? 
Why  dost  thou  shine  so  brilliant  and  outvie 
In  radiance  e'en  thy  parent  orbs,  ah  why? 

Tell  me,  is  it  through  sheer  delight 

At  thought  of  thy  life  scarce  begun, 

That  thou  canst  always  wax  when  wanes  the 

sun, 
Or  is  it  not  because  from  thy  far  height 
Thou  dost  watch  o'er  my  love  asleep  this  night? 


[  83  ] 


YOUTH  AND  OLD  AGE 
Youth 

BESIDE  my  hearth,  alone;  the  end  of  day; 
Yet  not  alone  for  crowding  to  my  mind 
Come   hopes   and   thoughts,   an   endless,   glad 

array, 
Thrilling  though  scarcely  half  defined. 


The  hopes  of  struggle  sought  and  goals  at- 
tained; 

Fond  thoughts  of  love,  full-crowned,  bright 
days  in  store, 

While,  'mid  the  glowing  flames,  in  fancy 
feigned, 

Are  pictured  faces  quite  unknown  before. 

Ah  Sleep!  If  these  be  lost  when  thou  art 
gained, 

Thy  realms  I  seek  not  to  explore. 

c  84  ] 


Old  Age 

Beside  my  hearth;  the  end  of  day,  alone; 

Yet  not  alone  for  to  my  weary  brain 

Come  trooping  thoughts  and  memories  one  by 

one, 
Filling  my  soul  with  vague,  strange  pain. 

Sad  thoughts  of  many  things  which  might  have 

been, 
Memories  of  wonder-days  which  come  no  more, 
And  through  the  waning  flames  dear  faces  seen 
Of  those  who  wait  upon  a  distant  shore. 
Ah  God!     If  true  oblivion  sleep  doth  mean, 
Grant  that  I  pass  its  threshold  o'er. 


[  85  ] 


IN  JUNE 

HOW  fair  and  fragrant  doth  the  wood- 
bine grow, 
Stretching  forth  tendrils  over  roof  and  wall, 
Clothing  each  stone  in  living  green  as  though 
It  heard  and  heeded  Spring's  awakening  call; 
Yet  close  around  thine  open  window  there  aloft, 

ah!  there 
I  think  it  grows  more  fragrant  still,  a  little 
bit  more  fair. 

We  mortals  pass  adown  life's  stony  ways 
Finding  our  smiles  and  tears  as  God  designs; 
Sometimes  one  joy  for  many  a  sorrow  pays 
And  so  I'm  sure  that,  just  as  with  these  vines, 
For  us  who  know  thy  presence,  see  the  won- 
der of  thy  face, 
Our  lives  are  made  more  fragrant,  the  world 
seems  a  fairer  place. 

1**1 


TO  MOUNT  ARARAT 

WITH    hoary    head   uplifted    'mid    the 
clouds 
Which  wreathe  its  furrowed  brow  and  veil  its 

face 
Or  draw  far  off  a  mighty  height  to  show 
Stands  Ararat  dividing  three  great  lands. 

"  O  great,  majestic  mountain  of  all  time 
Already  wast  thou  old  when  came  the  ark 
To  rest  upon  the  loftiest  of  thy  peaks, 
Safe  refuge  from  a  slow-subsiding  flood 
Though  all  known  other  things  were  still  sub- 
merged. 
Towering  above  thy  fellows,  thou  hast  seen 
The  human  race  begin  and  pygmy  man 
Contending,  fighting,  planning  down  the  years; 
Yet  came  grim  death  alike  to  slave  and  king 
While  thou  didst  gaze  with  pity  or  disdain, 

[  87  ] 


11  Mother  thou  art  of  streams  which  have  their 

birth 
In  thy  vast,  snow-girt  flanks  then  hurry  down 
To  nourish  mighty  rivers  in  their  turn 
And  so  bring  gladness  to  a  waiting  world. 
At  Dawn  thou  dost  behold  the  rising  sun 
When  we  below  can  see  but  fading  stars, 
And  this  sun,  later  sinking  in  the  West, 
Thine  ice-crowned  brow  caresses  with  last  rays, 
Yet  elsewhere  hover  shadows  and  gray  dusk. 
Black  night  descends,  then  comes  an  Eastern 

moon, 
With  molten  silver  now  thy  slopes  are  bathed, 
Ethereal,  shimmering  in  the  pale,  weird  light; 
All  nature  looks,  spell-bound  all  nature  seems. 

"  We  men  who  live  and  die  scarce  comprehend 
Such  beauty  or  thy  great  longevity; 
Unheeding  storm  and  time,  stand  on  supreme 
O  rock  of  ages  past,  of  years  to  come." 
[  88  ] 


THE  WHITE  ROSE'S  MISSION 

GO  fair,  pure  flower,  go 
Bearing  sweet  messages  of  love  from 
me 
And  tell  the  one  to  whom  I  send  thee  so 
Each  thing  I  now  tell  thee! 

Then,  with  this  mission  o'er, 

Though  fails  thy  fragrance  and  thy  beauties 

fade, 
Mayhap    thou   wilt   be    placed    in    some    safe 

drawer, 
'Mid  other  treasures  laid. 

And  though  thy  life  be  spent, 

Whene'er  this  drawer  is  visited,  alone, 

My  message,   through  thy  dead  yet  clinging 

scent, 
Will  live  again  for  one. 

C  89  ] 


TO  THE  FOUR  WINDS 

O  BALMY  wind  that  comes  from  far  off 
Southern  Seas, 
O  fragrant  wind  that  rests  oft-times  in  placid 

leas 
Of  islands  coral-girt  and  steals  their  flowers' 

scent, 
About  clear  waters  blue  and  bluest  firmament 
Thou  hast  a  tale  for  us.     Also  of  giant  palms, 
Huge,   tropic   ferns,   white   glare,   moist  heat 

and  deadly  calms. 

O  Wind  exhaling  grief,  East  wind  of  mystery, 

All  men  shun  thy  embrace,  while  nature  fear- 
fully 

Doth  cower  and  despair  till  pass  thy  ghost-like 
wings, 

Dank,  reeking  palls  called  fog,  the  breath  of 
seas,  it  brings 

[  90  ] 


Great  dread  unto  our  hearts.     These  blinding 

mists  provide 
A  cloak  for  thy  misdeeds  which  thou  dost  well 

to  hide. 

And  thou,  great,  boisterous  wind  that  rushes 

madly  forth 
From  caves  which  gave  thee  birth  far  in  the 

frozen  North, 
Thou  tellest  us  of  lands  whence  come  the  snow 

and  frost; 
Thou   boastest   of   thy   might    and   ships   like 

feathers  tossed 
Which  thou  didst  hurl  and  wreck  on  reefs  of 

ice-bound  coasts. 
Too  well  we  realise  thine  are  not  empty  boasts. 

O  healing,  clearing  breeze  that  comes  from  out 
the  West, 

[  9i   ] 


Of  all  the  winds  that  blow,  the  world  doth  love 

thee  best. 
New  life  to  things  which  live  and  vigor  dost 

thou  bring, 
A  message  of  good  cheer,  a  promise  of  the 

spring; 
Dark,  lowering  storm-clouds  yield  and  flee  at 

thy  caress. 
Yes,  thou  art  ever  kind,  O  wind  of  happiness. 


[  92  ] 


TO  ONE  AWAY 

HOW  do  I  feel  with  thee  away? 
Nay, —  ask  how  feels  the  lonely,  dark- 
ening night 
Bereft  of  moon  and  stars,  or  else  the  day 
Should  it  be  robbed  of  sun  and  light. 

Or  ask  how  feels  the  dying  rose 

Deprived  of  moisture,  or  some  clinging  vine 

Whose  prop  is  filched,  whose  life  draws  to  its 

close ; 
Their  answer  would  be  mine. 


t  93  ] 


TO  ONE  DEPARTED 

IN  some  safe,  hidden  drawer  I  laid  away 
The  pale  blue  flowers  thou  didst  give  to 

me 
When  we  two  strolled,  led  by  our  destiny, 
Through  shaded  forest  paths  and  thou  didst 

say 
That  thou  didst  care  for  me.     Oh  happy  day 
And  oft-remembered  spot,  where  we  both  knew 
The  ecstasies  of  love ;  how  moments  flew 
While  death  or  pain  in  some  dim  future  lay! 

Mayhap  these  forest  paths,  in  days  gone  by, 
Were  visited  by  other  women  fair 
Who  gave  such  flowers  or  a  lock  of  hair 
As  tokens  of  their  love,  and,  with  a  sigh, 
The  men  beside  them,  just  as  once  did  I, 
Received  the  tokens,  with  as  tender  care. 

[94] 


It  may  be  also  that,  from  time  to  time, 
These  lovers,  singly  or  together,  came 
To  know  the  smart  of  fleeting  years  or  claim 
Of  death;  which  meant  that  all  their  joys  sub- 
lime 
Were  past,  and  they  could  never  more  retrace 
Glad  footsteps  through  their  flowered,  wooded 

path. 
And  ah!  how  very  sad  the  aftermath 
For  us  who  ran  with  death  our  losing  race, 
The  death  of  fond  hopes  cherished  long  ago 
Or  of  a  loved  one.     So,  when  more  and  more 
We  suffer,  stealing  to  our  secret  drawer, 
We   gaze   on   faded,   pale   blue   flow'rs,    e'en 

though 
They  are  but  ghosts  of  yester-year,  we  know. 


[  95  ] 


And  yet  these  flowers  ever  will  retain 
Some  subtle,  haunting  odor  as  of  yore. 
So,  in  my  drawers  of  memory,  I  store 
Dear  but  sad  thoughts  which  help  me  live  again 
Those  days  gone  by,  and  which,  as  with  the 

flow'rs, 
Nor  years  nor  death  nor  many  suffering  hours 
Can  rob  of  all  their  fragrance, —  or  their  pain. 


[  96  ] 


COMPARISON 

THE  little  bird  with  plumage  plain  and 
dull 
Whose    notes    sound    harsh,    whose    songs    in 

sweetness  fail, 
To  its  own  mate  is  e'en  more  wonderful 
Than  bird  of  Paradise  or  nightingale. 

And  so  it  is  with  those  who  truly  love; 
Observing  just  the  best  nor  asking  more, 
Although  a  world  may  scorn  and  disapprove, 
Each  other's  faults  they  see  not  —  or  ignore. 


[  97  ] 


THE  STORY  OF  A  ROSE 

AS  died  one  day  in  early  June 
Was  born  a  tiny,  crimson  bloom 
Then,  as  it  first  gazed  on  the  world, 
Your  voice  was  heard  within  your  room. 

For  this  small  blossom,  just  a  rose, 
Beneath  your  window  had  its  birth, 
It  looked  to  see  whence  came  that  sound, 
Observed  the  opening  far  from  earth. 

Yes,  though  to  you  and  me  that  height 
Would  be  as  nothing,  to  the  rose 
Long  seemed  the  way  to  climb  and  steep  ; 
The  flower  pondered  ere  it  chose. 

Then,  once  again,  your  voice  was  heard, 
The  bud,  enraptured,  thrilled  with  love: 
Henceforth  impatiently  it  strove 
To  gain  your  window  high  above, 

[98  ] 


Each  day  less  distance  intervened 
As  ever  up  the  blossom  went, 
Each  eve  your  voice  came  softly  down 
As  though  in  sweet  encouragement. 

Then  finally  the  goal  was  reached, 
The  rose  full-blown  had  won  its  race, 
But  you  had  left  that  very  day 
And  moved  to  some  far  distant  place. 

The  flower  clambered  o'er  the  sill 
And  peeped  within,  naught  met  its  stare 
Except  a  vacant,  lonely  room; 
Ah!  even  flowers  may  feel  despair. 

That  night  you  came  not  or  the  next, 
The  following  morn  some  one  espied 
A  fading  rose  without  your  sash 
And  idly  wondered  why  it  died, 

[99  ] 


TO  ONE  ABSENT 

OFTTIMES  at  saddest  hour  when  breaks 
the  pale,  gray  dawn, 
I  waken  from  my  slumber  and  dear  dreams  of 

thee; 
All  nature  starts  to  rouse,  my  blinds  aside  are 

drawn, 
Yet  enters  not  the  light,  the  hour  is  dark  for 
me. 


Too  soon  I  realise  that  I  am  here  alone 
While  thou  art  left  in  lands  where  comes  nor 

grief  nor  pain; 
No  pleasures  of  this  world  can  for  thy  loss 

atone, 
I  fain  must  seek  thee  in  the  world  of  dreams 

again. 


[  ioo] 


H 


HOW  STRANGE  IT  SEEMS,.,  ,, 

AST    thou    e'er    thought    how   passing 
strange  it  seems 
That  often-times  grim  tales  of  dreadful  war 

and  woe, 
Of  saddest  suffering,  e'en  a  view  of  death  it- 
self, 
Can  leave  the  eyes  quite  dry ;  is  this  not  so  ? 

Then  mayhap  later,  borne  upon  the  breeze, 
Come  strains  of  memory-hallowed  music  to  our 

ears, 
Or  comes  the  haunting  fragrance  of  some  little 

flower, 
And  now  these  same  eyes  are  suffused  with 

tears. 


[IOI] 


THE  ABANDONED  HOME 

APART,  deserted,  lonely  now  it  stands, 
The  one-time  home  of  those  who  lived 
there  for  a  space, 
Who  heard  the  call  of  death,  mayhap,  or  else 

of  fate 
And  went  their  sad  ways  to  some  other  place. 


The  lichen-covered  gate  that  bars  a  path 
Which  leads  up  to  the  house  beneath  great, 

hoary  pines 
As  though  discouraging  intruders  who  would 

pass 
Is  held  by  twining  branches  of  strong  vines. 


[  102] 


Perchance   their   seeds   were   planted   by   fair 

hands 
Of  one  who  died  herself  ere  she  could  view 

these  things 
For  which  she  once  had  stooped  and  dug  to 

give  them  birth; 
We  all  may  sow,  but  fate  our  answer  brings. 

I  tear  aside  this  verdant,  growing  lock 

Yet,  when  I  force  my  way,  the  tendrils  which 

were  rent 
Stretch  out  like  clutching  fingers  of  a  drown- 
ing man 

To  scratch  and  cling  as  though  in  fierce  dissent. 


[103] 


I  now  approach  the  ivy-covered  walls, 

The  porch  enclosed  in  woodbine  and  my  final 

goal; 
Upon  the  fragrant  breeze  are  borne  in  scented 

waves 
Perfumes  of  flow'rs  from  which  it  took  sweet 

toll. 


And  glancing  o'er  the  lawn  I  see  these  blooms 
Of  lilac,  violet  and  crimson,  garden  rose 
That    struggle    to    exist    amid    rank,    choking 

weeds 
Whose   sure   encroachment  means   their   lives 

must  close. 


[  104] 


The  queer,  stale  odor  of  a  place  long  sealed 
Gives  me  unpleasant  greeting  when  I  force  the 

door 
And  pass  at  length  beyond  its  threshold  to  a 

hall 
Re-echoing  my  footsteps  on  the  floor. 

Unusual  sounds  for  this  deserted  house, 
They  now  intrude  upon  the   silence  of  each 

room ; 
I   hear   some    frightened  mice   rush   off   with 

scurrying  feet, 
A  bat,  disturbed,  flits  by  into  the  gloom. 


[io5] 


Beside  a  great,  wide  open  hearth  I  pause 
And  picture  in  my  mind  how  others  took  their 

stand 
Or  sat  on  wintry  nights  before  the   cheerful 

blaze, 
What  tales  they  would  relate,  what  things  were 

planned. 

A  thousand  eyes,  no  doubt,  in  by-gone  years, 
Have  gazed  on  this  same  hearth  which  also 

mine  behold, 
Perchance  some  watched  until  the  embers  paled 

and  died; 
How  many  of  their  fires  are  too  grown  cold? 


[106] 


How  many  tiny  beings  first  saw  the  light 

In  these  bare  rooms  explored  when  now  I 
mount  the  stairs? 

How  oft  came  death  to  claim  those  who  await- 
ing lay 

Or  those  in  slumber,  taken  unawares? 


I  ponder  o'er  these  things  and  all  the  while 
A  low,  weird  sobbing  of  the  wind  comes  to  my 

ears, 
Nay, —  is  it  sighing  of  departed  ones  returned 
To  view  again  their  home  of  former  years? 


[  107] 


I  must  away  for  light  gives  place  to  dusk, 
Already,  here  within,  black  night  spreads  out 

its  pall, 
The  sun  slants  long,  gray  shadows  down  the 

Western  hills 
As  now  I  step  from  out  the  ghostly  hall. 


A  pale,   white  moon  appears  and  strikes  its 

fires 
Then  kindles  to  bright  gold  up  in  the  Eastern 

sky; 
The  same  moon  knew  those  dwelling  in  this 

house, —  will  know 
All  those  to  come  when  gone  are  you  and  I. 


[108] 


A  little  sad  and  sobered  by  such  thoughts, 
I  wend  my  way  once  more  down  through  the 

flow'rs  and  trees; 
The  gate  is  opened,  closed;  I  leave  this  blighted 

spot 
To  silence,  to  its  ghosts  and  memories. 


[  109] 


YESTERDAY  AND  TO-DAY 

THE  heavens  yesterday  were   overcast, 
The    sun   was   hid    and   all   the   world 
seemed  drear 
But  ah!  what  difference  did  this  make  to  me 
For  thou  wast  here. 


To-day  the  skies  are  blue  and  very  fair, 
A  golden  Sun  has  gleamed  since  early  dawn 
But  ah!  what  difference  does  this  make  to  me 
For  thou  art  gone. 


[no] 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  WOMAN 

DOWN  in  the  steel-fringed,  safe-deposit 
vaults 

Attendants  there  would  watch  her  come  and 
go, 

The  strange,  veiled  woman  always  robed  in 
black, 

While  picturing  in  their  minds  the  wealth  her 
box  might  show 

Could  it  inspected  be; 

And  yet  each  wondered  why  she  came  so  fre- 
quently, 

At  least  a  visit  every  week  or  so. 

Within  one  of  the  cell-like  rooms 

She  would  withdraw  then  close  fast  to  the  door 

Remaining  there,  alone,  sometimes  an  hour  or 
more. 


cm] 


In  summer,  winter,  spring  and  fall  alike, 
For  years  she  visited  in  this  same  way, 
Always  mysterious  and  always  robed  in  black, 
Until  announcement  of  her  death  arrived  one 

day. 
Not  wealth  of  gold,  of  stocks  or  bonds  were 

found 
When  finally  the  box  was  opened  up  to  view 
But  just  a  lock  of  golden  hair, 
The  picture  of  a  baby  and  one  tiny  shoe. 


[112] 


THEN  AND  NOW 

IN  a  fair  garden  spot 
I  wandered  once  at  noon 
Seeking  brief  respite  from  my  daily  toil; 
A  wealth  of  blooms  grew  there, 
(Those  blooms  which  welcome  June) 
And  clothed  with  scented  coverlet  the  soil. 

It  seemed  naught  could  in  fragrance  to  such 

flowers  compare; 
But  then,  dear  heart,  I  had  not  known  thy  hair. 

I  viewed  twin  radiant  stars 

Peep  o'er  the  mountain's  rim 

And  kiss  the  valley  pool  with  mystic  light 

Then  on  its  surface  clear 

Their  shimmering  features  limn 

And  tiny  waves,  by  silvered  beams,  unite. 

[113] 


Could  aught  more  lovely  be  in  nature  or  in  art? 
Ah  then  I  had  not  known  thine  eyes,  dear  heart. 

I  plucked  a  full-blown  rose 
Still  moist  with  dew  of  dawn 
And  from  it  stole  two  petals  crimson  fair 
And  pressed  both  to  my  lips 
Before  upon  the  lawn 

I  dropped  them  crushed  yet  making  sweet  the 
air. 

I  thought  naught  could  be  softer  than  this  rose 

full-blown 
But  then,  dear  heart,  thy  lips  I  had  not  known. 


[114] 


WHY? 

A  YOUTH  had  all  but  reached  the  pin- 
nacle of  fame, 
Though  scarce   mature   in  years  his  was  the 

name 
One  heard  on  many  a  tongue. 

Fashioned  like  some  Greek  god,  of  noble  mien 

was  he, 
Possessed  of  every  charm;  his  destiny 
Seemed  bounded  by  the  stars. 

But  as  he  walked  his  lofty,  well-earned  path 

one  day, 
At  peace  with  all  the  world,  care-free  and  gay, 
Death  happened  to  pass  near. 


[us  J 


And  though  Death  knew  full  well  the  promise 

of  the  youth, 
Observed  his  grace,  his  beauty,  without  ruth 
Death  bore  the  lad  away, 

Then  later  overtook  a  sickly,  crippled  man 
Who  had  already  lived  beyond  the  span 
Of  years  allotted  most. 

Homeless  he  was  and  friendless,  praying  but 

to  die, 
It  seemed  naught  could  his  living  justify; 
Unheeding,  Death  passed  on. 


[n6] 


IMPOSSIBILITIES 

SWEETNESS  and    loveliness    and    grace! 
Ah,  dear  one,  how  can  it  be  true 
That  others  these  same  charms  possess 
Which  kindly  fate  dispensed  to  you? 

For  I  would  swear  that  you  were  given, 
When  fashioned  by  some  magic  deft, 
Of  these  fair  charms  each  smallest  part; 
How  could  for  others  aught  be  left? 


["7] 


THE  SUBMARINE 

DESPISED,  weird  rover  of  the  seas  un- 
seen, 
Man-made  leviathan  with  scales  of  steel, 
Abortion  given  birth  by  brains  unclean! 

As  might  a  cyclops,  ocean-born,  survey 
With  single  sight  the  waters  near  and  far, 
So  you  to  men  a  single  eye  display. 

And  the  horizon  scan  with  baleful  stare, 
Mark  well  a  victim  for  your  fell  attack 
Then  slow  submerge  while  deadly  fangs  you 
bare. 

Sometimes  a  lookout  spies  the  bubbling  wake 
Which  marks  where  speeds  your  messenger  of 

death 
Yet  can  do  naught  but  watch  it  overtake. 

[118] 


More  frequently  no  warning  sign  is  given; 
A  mighty  ship  sails  on,  its  fate  unguessed, 
When  suddenly  the  hull  apart  is  riven. 

Amid  the  scenes  of  death  and  agony 

Which  soon  succeed  where  peace  had  reigned 

before, 
You  wallow  gloating  over  what  you  see. 

E'en  those  who  give  you  life  at  times  are  slain; 
Too  long  you  stay  submerged  nor  will  obey 
When,  frantic,  they  would  seek  for  air  again. 

Helpless  as  rats  entrapped,  they  cannot  flee 
But  suffering  to  the  end  must  slowly  die 
Victims  of  their  own  ingenuity. 

Abhorred,  weird  rover  of  the  seas  unseen, 
A  menace  to  both  friend  and  foe  alike, 
Abortion  given  birth  by  brains  unclean! 

[119] 


ASSOCIATION 

IN  early  May,  I  strolled  one  day 
Amid   a   mighty   city's   din   and  moil, 
Among  those  crowded  ranks  which  sweat  and 

toil, 
Which  know  not  what  it  means  to  play. 


Then  paused  beside  a  fenced-in  spot 
O'er-strewn   with   dust   and   filth,    with   weeds 

o'er-grown, 
A  place  where  sunlight  rarely  ever  shone, 
The  very  air  seemed  stifling,  hot. 


[  120] 


Yet  there  I  spied  a  lonely  flower 

Sprung  from  some  seed  brought  —  who  knows 

how  or  why? 
Lifting  its  lovely  face  up  to  the  sky 
As  though  it  grew  in  fairest  bower. 

Now  when  some  soul  divine  I  see 
Living  in  this  sad  world,  pure,  noble,  strong, 
Striving  undaunted  'mid  the  weaker  throng, 
Thoughts  of  that  flower  revert  to  me. 


[121] 


THE  WEDDING  MARCH  FROM 
LOHENGRIN 

THE  Wedding  March  from  Lohengrin! 
Throbbing    and    pulsing    through    the 
gathered  throng 
Its  soft,  familiar  strains  now  rise,  now  fall, 
Bringing  each  heart  and  soul  a  fragrant  song, 
The  old,  old  song  of  love; 
Making  of  most  of  this  vast  audience 
Lovers  again. 

And  yet  what  varied  thoughts  are  passing  in 

these  minds? 
For  love's  song  doth  at  times  a  sting  possess 
And  there  are  those  to  whom  come  burning 

memories 
With  vain  regrets  for  things  which  might  have 

been, 
Of  wasted  opportunities 
And  thoughts  of  future  loneliness. 
[  122] 


Others  there  are  who,  in  the  light  subdued, 
Stretch    forth    appealing    hands    which    meet, 

which  press 
And  in  the  pressing  once  again  renew 
Pledges  of  days  gone  by. 
Youth  too  is  here,  enthusiastic  youth 
Looking  on  love  with  first  awakening  eyes, 
Observing  thus  naught  but  love's  ecstasies, 
Oblivious  to  its  sorrows  and  its  sighs. 

And  now  the  strains  subside  then  die  away, 

Ah  who  may  say 

What  dreams  have  come  to  youth  in  these  brief 

moments  past? 
What  joys  re-found  for  some  as  the  soft  strains 

remind 
But  for  a  few  —  what  sadness  left  behind! 


[  123  ] 


THE  GREEK  ISLANDS 

LANDS    of   a    mighty   people    dead   long 
since, 
Inhabited  to-day  by  those  who  live 
But  through  a  glory  which  is  not  their  own, 
Which  comes  to  them  by  right  of  race  alone, 
Thus  do  we  see  the  once-famed  Grecian  Isles. 

Still  not  in  vain  is  glory  such  as  this 

For  other  nations  came  to  find  an  art 

The  grace  of  which  and  beauty  brought  delight ; 

An  art  which  left  its  mark  adown  the  years 

With  monuments  of  stone  which  it  inspired. 


[124] 


Great  must  have  been  the  men  and  great  the 

minds 
That  could  create  such  models  or  a  type 
Which  stood  the  test  of  ages  and  remain 
In  splendor  unsurpassed,  by  time  unchanged; 
For  to  this  day,  in  countries  far  and  near, 
We  find  fair  off-spring  of  those  potent  brains. 

Yet,  if  the  spirits  of  the  dead  return 
And  roam  amid  those  scenes  they  knew  in  life 
How  grieved  each  one  must  be  to  view  abodes 
Wherein  they  dwelt,  wide-open  to  the  skies ; 
Broad    highways,    marble-paved,    o'er    which 

were  wont 
To  march  triumphant  legions  coming  back 
Victorious    from    some    war,    now    rank   with 

weeds, 


[125] 


But  paths  for  wandering  goats,  and  everywhere 
The  vandal's  hand  has  pilfered  or  destroyed. 
Sad  islands  filled  with  ghosts  and  memories! 
Look  where  we  may  but  ruin  meets  our  gaze, 
Sheep  stray  at  will  among  the  crumbling  walls 
While  —  most  incongruous  spectacle  of  all  — 
A  shepherd's  hut  where  once  a  temple  stood. 


[126] 


SNOW-FLAKES 

FROM   foulest  pool   and  clearest  spring, 
From  unclean  sources  or  from  sources 

pure 
The  sun  draws  waters  high  into  the  sky 
Then  kisses  them  with  rays  which  heal  and  cure. 
When,  at  the  magic  of  this  kiss,  each  drop 
Is  made  alike,  again  to  earth  below, 
From  all  pollution  freed,  the  sun  returns  them 

now 
As  rain  or  mists,  as  crystal  hail  or  snow. 
Those  tiny,  star-shaped  flakes  you  catch  upon 

your  sleeve, 
Mayhap  were  waters  once  in  tainted  streams, 

who  knows? 
And  yet  again  we  justly  may  believe 
They  were  bright  dew-drops  on  some  lovely 

rose. 


[127] 


THE  RIVER 

BEFORE     man     lived  —  long     centuries 
ago, 
A  tiny  stream  of  water,  crystal-clear, 
Of  a  secluded  mountain  lake  was  born 
And  from  that  time  the  lake  s  broad  bosom  fair 
This  infant  stream  has  nurtured  and  has  fed. 
Rippling  and  swirling,  babbling  playfully, 
Un-knowing  and  un-caring  what  each  curve 
Or  bend  might  bring  it  set  forth  to  explore. 

And  soon  is  met  a  little  brook,  so  small 
That  scarcely  doth  the  stream  augment  its  size 
When  both  together  join  and  onward  rush 
United  in  a  course  which  leads  them  on 
To  other  brooks  and  still  to  others.     Thus 
Each  one  is  lured;  the  tiny  stream  now  grows 
Into  a  tiny  river,  but  as  yet 

[128] 


Unmindful  of  great  power  till  it  essays 
A  fierce  attack  which  rends  the  solid  earth, 
Cleaving  steep  banks,  eroding  channels  deep 
As  might  some  Titan  of  gigantic  strength. 

Each  mile  traversed  brings  still  more  brooks 

and  streams, 
And  all  are  wooed  while  every  one  becomes 
A  pulsing  vein  of  the  great  artery 
Which  wooed  and  gets  in  turn  from  them  its 

being. 
Grown  to  a  mighty  river  now  it  brings 
To  those  who  live  along  the  blessed  shores, 
Great  crops,  great  harvests,  riches,  gladness, — 

yet 
At  times,  as  though  with  pent-up  rage  it  teemed, 
Full  vent  is  given  to  all  its  latent  power. 
Then,  over-flowing  banks,  it  devastates 
And  bares  the  lands  which  but  an  hour  ago 
Were  blest  instead  of  blighted  by  the  flow. 
[129] 


"  Wouldst  thou  but  speak  so  we  poor  mortals 

here 
Could  understand,  O  river  of  all  time, 
What  wondrous  tales  to  us  thou  couldst  unfold; 
For  thou  hast  seen  huge,  mammoth  beasts  that 

came 
Before  the  human  race  began,  to  slake 
Their   thirst    along   thy   marge.     A    span    of 

years  — 
Then  followed  man  primeval,  gaunt,  uncouth, 
Who  lived  high  up  above  thy  banks  in  caves 
And  worked  or  killed  with  implements  of  stone. 
The    bronze-skinned    Indian    thou    hast    also 

known, 
The  white  men  and  their  many  million  sons. 
And  coming  down  these  ages,  what  strange  craft 
Have  floated  on  thy  waters,  borne  along 
By  wind  or  by  thy  current,  fateful  sure, 
Propelled  by  rough-hewn  paddle,  later  on 
By  oars  of  wood  and  finally  by  steam. 

[  130] 


Yes,  thou  art  very  wise.     So  are  the  rocks 
Which  guard  and  keep  their  watch  along  thy 

shores; 
But  they  are  seared  and  gray  with  age,  while 

thou 
Must  know  some  fountain  of  eternal  youth 
And  steal  of  its  pure  waters  for  thine  own, 
For  thou  are  just  as  always,  ever  young. 

11  Called  by  an  ocean  mightier  e'en  than  thou, 
Roll  on  great  river,  roll  resistless  on! 
Those  men  who  boasted  here  but  yesterday 
At  having  chained  an  atom  of  thy  power, 
Where  are  they  gone  to-day,  of  what  avail 
To  them  who  are  no  more?     So,  in  disdain, 
Thou  flowest  on  as  for  ten  thousand  years, 
As  thou  wilt  flow  until  the  end  of  time." 


[131] 


DO  DREAMS  COME  TRUE? 

DO  dreams  come  true? 
Ah  yes,   I'm  sure  sometimes  they  do 
For  as,  this  morn,  the  dawn's  first  ghostly  light 
Stole  through  my  chamber  window  putting  to 

swift  flight 
The  gloom  of  night, 
I  dreamt  an  angel  came  and  stood  beside  my 

bed 
And  smoothed  my  troubled  brow  though  not 

a  word  was  said. 
Then  sudden  I  awoke ;  lo !  you  were  standing 

there 
With  one  dear  hand  laid  gently  on  my  hair. 


[  x32  ] 


AT  SUNSET 

GREAT,  Titan  shapes,  flame-fringed,  loom 
in  the  sunset  skies, 
Outrivalling  in  shades  and  tints 
Rare,  gorgeous  butterflies 

Or  opals  viewed  by  light  of  drift-wood  blaze; 
As  though  the  sinking  sun  wished  all  the  world 

to  gaze 
Upon  his  hidden  treasures,  ere  he  wane, 
So  paints,  upon  the  curtains  of  these  shifting 

clouds, 
Each  color  that  his  spectrum  doth  contain. 


[  133] 


AT  DUSK 

THE  calls  of  homing  birds  that  seek  their 
mates 
Are  wafted  on  the  twilight  breeze  to  me 
Beside  an  open  window  whence  I  see 
The  sun  about  to  close  its  gleaming  gates 
Of  burnished  gold.     All  over  vale  and  hill, 
With  ghost-like  stealth,  the  lengthening  shad- 
ows creep 
Enshrouding  fields  and  trees  in  darkness  deep ; 
Each  bright  till  palls  of  mystic  nothing  kill 
For  each  in  turn  the  waning,  shimmering  light. 
It  seems  as  though  grim  night  had  hovered  near 
And,  passing  by,  just  touched  with  sable  wings, 
As  with  some  magic  wand,  the  rocks  and  things 
Which  but  a  moment  since  were  outlined  clear 
Yet,  even  as  I  gaze,  now  disappear. 


[134] 


4* 

So,  those  who  know  the  joys  of  love  and  live 

Forgetful  of  what  future  years  may  bring, 
Must  sometimes  feel  the  cruel,  deadly  sting 
Of  griefs  which  strike  and  seldom  warning  give 
But,  like  a  shadow  dark,  they  steal  away 
The  joyful  brightness  of  our  yesterday. 

And  now  the  fading  light  is  almost  spent 
While  e'en  the  gentle  zephyrs,  whispering  low 
Of  far-off  scenes,  then  lower  still  as  though 
O'er-burdened  with  the  fragrant,  haunting  scent 
Of  flowers  oft  caressed  near  wood  and  bay, 
So  drowsy  grow,  they  cease  to  blow  their  lay. 
There    follows    silence    pregnant,    tense,    pro- 
found, 
Yet  —  I  could  almost  think  I  heard  a  sound 
As  if  the  world  had  sighed  or  else  some  fay 
By  me  unseen  when  it  too  ceased  from  play; 
For  at  this  witching  hour  and  near  such  ground, 
We  know  these  creatures  of  the  wood  abound. 
[135] 


All  nature  seems  to  wait  in  hushed  suspense 
While,  for  a  moment  brief,  the  stillness  lasts; 
Then  —  could  it  be  a  thought  of  icy  blasts 
Endured  some  winter  time  of  cold  intense, 
Or  did  there  pass  a  spirit  from  the  North, 
That  caused  the  world  to  shiver  as  it  went? 
For  trees  begin  to  quiver  and  are  bent 
As  by  a  hand  unseen  while,  from  henceforth, 
The  air  is  chilled  though  fires  of  stars  which 

morn 
In  turn  will  quench,  grow  bright  in  darkening 

skies ; 
The  wind  comes  sudden,  strong;  I  realise 
A  summer  day  has  died,  a  night  is  born. 


[136] 


ALWAYS 

DO  I  behold  the  flaming  sun. 
Burst    from    night's    prison    walls    be- 
neath the  sea 
And  so  proclaim  to  all  another  day  begun, 
Dear  heart,  I  think  of  thee. 

When,  weary  of  his  freedom  sweet, 
I  watch  this  sun  in  Western  waters  sink 
Then  send  his  love  the  moon  each  waiting  star 

to  greet, 
Of  thee,  dear  heart,  I  think. 

Hear  I  a  song  that  lovely  seems, 
View  I  fair  landscapes  formed  by  nature's  art, 
Be  I  in  waking  hours  or  in  my  hours  of  dreams, 
I  think  of  thee,  dear  heart. 


[  137] 


EARLY  NOVEMBER 

A  SOUND  as  though  of  sobbing  in  the 
trees, 
With  fitful,  sullen  gusts  the  wailing  North  wind 

blows 
Foreboding  death  to  Nature's  bloom  and  green 
Or  the  long,  winter  sleep  beneath  deep-drifting 

snows ; 
Stilled  is  the  hum  of  bees  and  stilled  the  drone 
Of  summer-frenzied  insects,  hushed  the  carol- 
ling 
Of  birds  and  throaty  boom  of  frogs. 
Those  very  brooks  and  streams  which  in  the 

spring 
Rushed  sea-ward  with  exulting,  noisy  flow 
Now  seem  to  murmur  plaintively  as  though 
Already  they  the  binding  clasp  could  feel 
Of  icy  hosts  which  from  them  freedom  steal. 


[138] 


No  longer  to  our  senses  comes  the  sweet  per- 
fume 
Of  field  or  forest  flower  since  wilted  is  each 

bloom 
And  from  the  suffering  branches  overhead 
Sere,  faded  leaves  in  sad  procession  fall 
Then  o'er  the   drowsing  earth  a   shroud-like 

blanket  spread. 
High  up  above,  in  swift,  unerring  flight 
The  wild  geese  wing  their  way,   against  the 

clouds  outlined, 
Bound  for  a  warmer  clime  and  as  they  pass 

from  sight 
Derisively  they  taunt  us  lingering  here  behind. 


[  139] 


THE  VALLEY  OF  DEPARTED  DAYS 

INTO  the  valley  of  departed  days 
How  many  here  would  fain  again  retrace 
Their  steps  and  stroll  once  more  along  those 

flowered  ways 
Hallowed  by  memories  which  time  can  ne'er 

efface, 
Of  youth  and  all  that  youth  contained  and  mem- 
ories 
Of  loved  ones  lost  to  them  for  life's  brief  space. 


[  Ho] 


For  as  we  walk  the  path  to  future  years 
With  feet  which  falter  and  more  weary  grow 
As  each  new  year  succeeds,  the  pain,  the  griefs, 

the  tears 
Of  days  gone  by,   forgotten  are  and  we  but 

know 
Their  joys.     The  rearward  road  more  beauti- 
ful appears 
The  further  on  the  road  ahead  we  go. 


THE    END 


[141] 


50m-7,'16 


yftj"  -v 


YB  31252 


357967 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


